


Heart of the Ocean

by bun_o_ween



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bottom Keith (Voltron), First Time, Growing Old Together, Keith is a wild little thing from Utah, M/M, Minor Adam/Shiro (Voltron), Pining Shiro (Voltron), Rough Sex, Shiro's a repressed rich boy, Titanic AU, Top Shiro (Voltron), also Keith is Jack, neither Keith nor Shiro die (the door was big enough for two), their relationship isn't sweet at all
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-28
Updated: 2019-12-29
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:14:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21993535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bun_o_ween/pseuds/bun_o_ween
Summary: To everyone else she was the ship of dreams.But to Shiro she was the ship that would drag him to America, tethered to Adam’s arm for the rest of his days. A trophy husband. Something pretty for Adam to display up on a shelf and only bring out on special occasion.As the Titanic blew her steam horn Shiro sympathised with her. He wanted to scream too.
Relationships: Keith/Shiro (Voltron)
Comments: 26
Kudos: 109





	1. Chapter 1

_10th April, 1912_

Shiro watched the city of Southampton pass him by.

It was a dreadfully boring place and Shiro already missed Osaka. The cherry blossoms would be blooming this time of year. If he were home he would preparing green tea dumplings with his grandparents, and lighting paper lanterns with his cousins.

Instead he was in England on his way to the Titanic.

The ship towered over him as he stepped out of the car. The dock was thick with people, thousands thick, swarming the waterside to stare in awe at the formidable black hull.

“I don’t see what all the fuss is about,” Shiro said. “It doesn’t look any bigger than the _Mauretania_.”

His fiancé laughed, raising an eyebrow at Shiro as if he had said something silly.

“You can be blasé about some things, Shiro, but not about Titanic.”

Adam had a dazzling grin on his face, the one he kept reserved for special occasions. He gestured at the ship, still looking at Shiro as if he were naive. Something small. Something to be wrapped in tissue paper - as if made of glass.

Shiro wrinkled his nose.

His fiancé was dressed handsomely. He looked every part the dashing American industrialist he was - dressed in a three-piece suit and gloves, his shoes just as polished as his expression.

“Your son is far too hard to impress,” Adam said to Shiro’s mother, helping her from the car.

Himari gave a tight-lipped smile but flashed her eyes at Shiro. She was dressed like a Westerner, ink-black hair atop her head and mouth painted dark red. Shiro had the same dark hair, bare for the streak of alabaster forelock.

“So this is the ship they say is unsinkable,” Himari said.

Her English was impeccable. It had to be. It was no easy feat finding Shiro a husband as rich as Adam Devereux, heir to the Pittsburgh steel fortune. He was their family’s only hope, the Shirogane name tied up in debt after her husband passed away.

“It _is_ unsinkable!” Adam declared. “God himself couldn’t sink this ship.”

Shiro let his eyes wander up the expanse of black steel, his shoulders heavy. As the shadow of the Titanic fell across his face he felt sick with the very size of her.

To everyone else she was the ship of dreams.

But to Shiro she was the ship that would drag him to America, tethered to Adam’s arm for the rest of his days. A trophy husband. Something pretty for Adam to display up on a shelf and bring out on special occasion - like his smile.

As the Titanic blew her steam horn, a horrific bellow that rumbled up from her underbelly and split the air, Shiro sympathised with her.

He wanted to scream too.

……………………………………………………………………………

The windows of the tavern rattled from the horn.

Keith paid no attention to the sound - concentrated on the cards splayed in his hand. He glanced over them and at his opponents, two Swedish strangers, and wet his mouth.

It was the most important game of cards Keith had ever played.

Between he and the Swedish men was a tabletop of money. Keith didn’t need it, he made do on his own. But nestled on the coins and notes were two third-class tickets for the Titanic, set to sail in fifteen minutes time.

Keith looked toward Lance, the Cuban merchant he’d met in Paris three months ago. The young man looked just as anxious as he felt, eyes wide and cards creased where he gripped them a little too tightly.

“Hit me again Sven,” Keith said to the Swedish pair.

He accepted a card from the man, slipping it inside his fanned hand. The Titanic bellowed again, the windows shaking, two coins falling from the table to the floor.

“Moment of truth,” Keith murmured, glancing at Lance. “Someone’s life is about to change.”

Sven and his friend placed their cards down first.

“Abysmal,” Keith said to them, swallowing his excitement.

Lance folded next, laying his cards on the table before him.

“Nada,” he sighed, hanging his head.

“Sorry Lance,” Keith told him, tonguing his cheek.

“Sorry?”

“Sorry,” Keith repeated. “You won’t be seeing your mamá for a long, long time.”

He laid his cards down on the table, revealing his full house to all three men.

“Because you’re going to America,” Keith finally allowed himself to smile, wild and roguish. “Full house, boys!”

Lance _whooped_. He stood up so fast he jostled the table and Keith shot out his hands, clutching the two tickets for the ship outside. Lance fumbled for the money, scooping it into his shirt as the Titanic sounded her third and final horn.

“Shit,” Keith breathed, unable to stop smiling. “We gotta go.”

His hair fell in front of his eyes as he ran, nothing but the tickets and a small, leather suitcase in his hands. He chased Lance out of the tavern and through the cobbled alleyway, heading for the looming shadow and the cheer of onlookers.

“We’re the luckiest sons of bitches in the world,” Lance told him, breathing heavy.

Keith could only nod ardently. He was speechless, his heart lodged in his throat from pure elation.

He was finally going home.

……………………………………………………………………………

The Millionaire Suite was exactly as opulent as Adam promised.

It was so new Shiro could still smell the paint, and so large he felt he were in a New York apartment and not a ship. His fiancé wandered out on their private promenade, looking down at the gathered crowd while Shiro settled for the magnificence of the sitting room.

A maid poured him a glass of champagne and he took a sip, pulling free the stacked paintings from their luggage.

“They certainly were a waste of money,” Adam said from outside.

Shiro ignored him. He took one painting and sat it in the noon light, letting the sun illuminate the artwork. It was of dancers, thin and poised, their skirts a flurry of pastel.

He pulled free a second painting, this one more unique. The lines were bold and the strokes of colour were nothing like the dancers. It looked free, somewhat wild. Shiro sighed, sipping his champagne as he sat in his lavish bird cage.

“I think they’re fascinating,” he said - but not too loudly.

It wouldn’t do to speak against his husband-to-be.

“They’re like a dream,” he mumbled, tracing the edge of the frame.

On his finger was a ring - a golden collar.

Adam entered the room and caught him staring at it. He smiled, smug and sure, coming to stand by Shiro’s crouched form. He fixed a hand to the back of his neck, tracing a loving pattern on his nape.

To Shiro it felt anything but.

……………………………………………………………………………

The palm court was alive with idle chatter.

Shiro tuned it out, staring past the tables and the people to watch the sun set over the Atlantic ocean. The ship made a humming sound as she moved west, cutting through the water like a knife.

“She’s the largest moving object ever made in history,” announced a man to Shiro’s left - the ship’s director, if he remembered correctly.

His mother made a sound of interest. Shiro forced himself to smile, a knee-jerk reaction. Truthfully, he didn’t care.

“Why are ships always named _she_?” Said a voice from the end of the table.

Allura Blisset was what his mother referred to as _new money_. She was rich but she hadn’t always been rich - not like Adam. Allura dressed like them, was as equally wealthy as them - but she would never be accepted.

Shiro had heard his mother and the other women talking about her. They said that she was too loud, too crass. That she spoke just like a man would. But Shiro rather liked her.

“Just another example of men setting the rules their way,” Allura drawled, her voice a mimicry of the fine accent the rest of the table was born with.

Fake laughter came from around the table. Shiro hid a genuine smile, sticking a cigarette between his lips and lighting it.

“You know I don’t like that,” said his mother.

Shiro glanced at her, dressed in her beaded dress like something she was not. He exhaled, letting the smoke billow in her face. Adam leaned across and snatched the cigarette from his mouth, crushing it in a crystal dish.

“He knows,” he told Himari, shooting Shiro a look.

Shiro stared at the withered corpse of his cigarette. He let the room slip into a mindless hum again, his chest sore. He didn’t react when Adam ordered for him, disinterested by anything and everything that happened at the table.

“We’ll have the lamb,” Adam told the waiter. “You like lamb, don’t you sweet-pea?”

 _It wouldn’t matter_ , Shiro thought to himself. He liked lamb if Adam said he did.

“You gonna cut his meat for him too there, Adam?” Allura asked.

Her voice was light, her teeth brilliant in good humour - but she sent Shiro a gentle smile of solidarity. It made his heart cry - pushing back from the table so quickly his chair squealed.

He was aware they were watching him as he left the room but he couldn’t care less. Shiro couldn’t breathe.

……………………………………………………………………………

Keith had charcoal all over his fingers.

As he combed his hair behind his ear he felt it smudge across his cheek. He paid it no mind, focused on a sketch of a little girl leaning over Titanic’s railing with her daddy.

Lance had made a friend - a man with a thick, European accent named Matt. They were bickering as if they’d known each other for years, pointing out girls who paraded the upper promenades of first and second class.

Keith tolerated their banter if only for the simple fact one of them would intermittently offer him a drag of their cigarette. Keith leaned in for a draw without lifting his eyes from his paper, deeply devoted to sketching the heavy fall of the little girl’s eyelashes.

He looked up as something bright caught his attention.

The glint of a pocket-watch - something expensive and shiny, and utterly boring to Keith.

But he couldn’t help but stare at the man attached to it, leaning on the first class railing as he checked the time. He had midnight black hair, almost perfect, a spring of silver that had fallen loose and hung between his eyes.

He looked sad, too.

From the look of his three-piece suit and the watch he stuffed back into his jacket Keith marvelled that a man like that couldn’t simply _buy_ happiness.

A snort broke him from his thoughts.

“Forget about it, buddy.”

Matt was hunched over Keith’s perch, looking at the handsome gentleman too. Even Lance was silent - and Keith blushed with the knowledge that he’d been caught staring.

“Forget about what?” Keith muttered, acting as if he hadn’t been mooning like a teenager.

“You’re as likely to have angels fly out your ass than get next to the likes of him,” Matt smirked.

Lance choked on a snicker.

Keith opened his mouth to argue but the man in the suit was suddenly looking back at him. From the distance it was difficult to read his expression. Keith clenched the charcoal in his hand, desperate to sketch his strong jaw, his dramatic cheekbone.

Another man joined him on the promenade, placing his hand on his waist. They seemed to argue, the noise of their displeasure lost to sea. Keith watched as the first man batted away the other, storming down the deck and out of sight.

Keith leaned back as Matt offered him another cigarette, closing his eyes. It wasn’t healthy to fixate on things he could never have.

……………………………………………………………………………

The red wine was ashes in Shiro’s mouth.

He forced it down anyway, desperate to numb the mindless chatter around the dining table. Shiro watched mouths move without noting what they said - his entire life dragged out before him.

 _This is it_ , he realised.

This was all his life would ever amount to. Shiro looked around the table at the other wives, their faces pink with liquor, wondering if their smiles were as painted on as their lipstick. Or worse - did they truly enjoy the lives their husbands had picked out and purchased for them?

Shiro finished the last of his wine and flagged the waiter for another. He hadn’t said a word all evening, allowing his mother and Adam to drag him around the ship, to force him into another stiff suit.

The collar was tight around his throat and Shiro stared at his barely-touched dinner. He glanced up at Allura, spellbound in conversation with the others, and silently begged her to notice him.

But no one came to his rescue. No one noticed Shiro drowning. No one saw the way his soul split down the middle like an old shirt, spilling his heart onto the table.

No one noticed when Shiro excused himself and left the dining saloon, heading for the deck.

His jacket was constricting. His breath hitched as his eyes began to burn. Shiro stumbled into a table as he rushed out, the jarring pain in his leg bringing a sob to his throat. He kept his composure until he met the night air and then he began to cry - heartbroken and furious all at once.

His shoes kept time with his heartbeat as he began to run - tears blurring the lights and the concerned faces that slipped past him.

……………………………………………………………………………

The stars reminded Keith of home.

There were no city lights to shy the constellations into hiding, no smog to disguise the heavens. When Keith was young he would watch the night sky with his daddy - lay out on the sand, still warm from day, and watch stars shoot across the desert sky.

His daddy was gone now but the stars remained, and Keith found comfort in their constant. He took another draw of his cigarette, wondering if his father was keeping an eye on him.

Thundering footsteps broke him from his memories.

Keith shot up so fast his cigarette crumbled on his trousers. Someone ran past him - the handsome gentleman from earlier. He was dressed sharply, a black tuxedo, his hair slicked away from his face. He was breathing like he’d been wounded, running from something Keith couldn’t see.

Keith stood as the man reached the stern of the Titanic, grasping the flagpole like a lifeline. He was heaving, distraught. Keith listened to him cry, taking a tentative step toward him.

Then he watched in mild horror as the man climbed over the railing that separated him from the ocean, and hung over the edge.

“Don’t do it,” he blurted, easing forward.

The man whipped around so fast Keith froze in place. The man was like a deer, eyes wide and breath bated, ready to flee at the first sign of movement. Keith exhaled, noticing the vice-like grip of the man’s hands around the railing.

“Stay back!” The man shouted, chest heaving.

Carefully, and oh so slowly, Keith took one step forward. He didn’t blink, scared that if he did the man would jump and never be seen again.

“I mean it!” The man cried out. “I’ll jump!”

Now that he was closer Keith could see the tear tracks on the man’s cheeks. He could also see the scar that ran across his nose, thick and baby pink. He looked like hell - beautiful and terrifying all at once. Keith reached his hand toward him.

“Take my hand.”

“No! S-stay back,” he stammered. “I’ll let go.”

Keith sighed. He mourned for the cigarette he left smouldering on the bench.

“No you won’t,” he said, watching the man’s eyebrows shoot toward his hairline.

“What do you mean I won’t?” He bit back - suddenly more arrogant than sad.

Keith rolled his eyes. Typical first class boy. He shrugged out of his coat, winching at how cold the night air was.

“Because I’d have to jump in after you,” Keith explained. “And I don’t want to have to do that.”

The stranger was beautiful in his shock. He glanced at Keith’s hand but refused to take it.

“You’d be killed,” he said quietly.

He didn’t need to speak up. The night was dead silent and it was only the two of them. Keith took another step forward, stopping when the man bristled at him.

“I’m a good swimmer,” Keith said.

The man looked down at the ocean below him.

“The fall would kill you,” he said so matter-of-factly that it was hard to believe he was the one contemplating suicide in the first place.

Keith shrugged, leaning down to unlaced both his boots. He toed out of them, leaving them beside his coat. He took another step forward as the man watched the water.

“It ain’t the fall I’m worried about,” Keith told him. “I’d be more concerned with how cold that water is.”

The man looked back at him.

“How cold?” He asked, so quiet it made Keith feel he still had a chance.

“Freezing,” Keith said. “Which is why I’m not looking forward to jumping in after you.”

The man’s eyes fell from his face down to his bootless feet. He swallowed, his throat bobbing behind the tight collar of his shirt.

“You’re crazy,” he told him.

Keith snorted.

“I hear that a lot,” he said, “but with all due respect, sir - I’m not the one hanging off the back of a ship.”

Keith noticed no new tears had dribbled down the man’s face. He was silent now - the full gravity of his situation having sunk in. Keith offered his hand again, swallowing his smile when the man let go of the railing and placed his hand in his.

Once Keith had hold of the silk glove he tightened his grip, refusing to let go. He helped the man turn around, only releasing his breath when he held both hands in his. One was heavy and cool, an unnatural feeling compared to the softer, warmer hand in Keith’s left.

“I’m Keith Kogane,” he told the man, only now realising how much taller the other was.

The man blinked his tear-thick eyelashes and offered a shy smile. He was a big man - broad-shouldered and attractive beyond belief - so much that it made Keith blush.

“Pleased to meet you, Mr. Kogane,” he said in return.

Keith shivered. He told himself it was the wind, the lack of his coat, and not the handsome lilt to the stranger’s voice. He had an accent Keith hadn’t heard before, just as intriguing as the hard, almost-metal feeling hand squeezing his.

“I’m Takashi Shirogane,” he said.

Keith huffed.

“Might have to get you to write that one down for me,” he said.

He shifted his hands up the man’s forearms and helped him step up the railing. The man smiled down at him, fingers tight as they came up and clenched Keith’s shoulders.

“You can call me Shiro,” he said.

Then he slipped.

There was a loud, slick squeal when Shiro’s shoe slid off the railing. He fell, heavy and fast, and Keith lurched forward and held onto his arms. Shiro’s weight tugged him over the railing, bar bruising into his stomach. His arms threatened to pull out of their sockets. He cried out in pain, and Shiro cried in terror.

“Help!” He screamed.

His voice was so loud and frightening that it almost hurt Keith more than the pull on his arms. He had always been strong, despite his petite frame, but Shiro was big - and heavy.

Shiro kicked out his legs, thrashing his head at the sight of the pitch black Atlantic below him. Keith braced his arms, curled them both toward his chest as he strained with all his might to lift the man. Shiro hooked his shoe into the railing, gained leverage, and pushed himself up toward Keith.

“I’ve got you!” Keith gasped, curling both arms around him. “I’ve got you, Shiro. I’ve got you.”

The man’s weight fell against him and Keith stumbled back, squeezing Shiro close to his chest so he could roll and take the brunt of the collision. The man collapsed beneath Keith, the boy braced above him as relief flooded his lungs. He went to open his mouth but he was interrupted by a shrill shout.

“Hey! What’s all this!”

Keith scrambled to get off Shiro’s lap, only to be thrown back by a uniformed man. His back his the deck for the second time that night, a grunt pushed from his ribs. Hurried footsteps stormed across the deck, someone helping Shiro to his feet. A man cupped his face and examined him as if an object, appraising him for damage.

Keith knew how it looked.

He, a scrappy steerage passenger braced over a crying, first-class man. Keith hung his head, not bothering to struggle as they handcuffed him. A gloved hand gripped his face and forced him to look up.

“What made you think you could put your hands on my fiancé?” The man snapped, teeth bared.

He was dressed as nicely as Shiro, his eyes narrow with rage. Keith looked past him and at Shiro, being fawned over by two other men in suits.

“Look at me, filth!” The man snapped, yanking his face back to his. “What did you think you were doing!”

“Adam, stop!” Shiro cried. “It was an accident.”

The man, Adam, paused. He kept Keith’s face in his brutal grip, glancing at the other.

“An accident?” He repeated.

Shiro stepped toward him, now wrapped in a heavy, black coat. He looked forlorn with his dried tears. Sheepish, even.

“I was leaning over to see the… the p-propellers,” he lied. “And I slipped.”

“Slipped,” Adam echoed.

Shiro nodded, lowering his eyes. Adam let go of Keith’s jaw and the boy wrinkled his nose, unable to use his hands to rub at the sore spot.

“Was that the way of it?” Asked the uniformed man.

Keith looked at Shiro until the man lifted his head, just enough to send a silent plea toward him. Keith swallowed.

“That’s pretty much it,” Keith said.

“The boy’s a hero then!” The man proclaimed, immediately releasing Keith’s cuffs. “Well done, son.”

The praise fell on ringing ears, Keith too stunned to say otherwise. He watched Adam take hold of his fiancé, shepherding him back toward the dining saloon.

“You’re freezing,” Adam chastised.

He paused when the uniformed man cleared his throat.

“Perhaps a little something for the boy?” He suggested.

Keith wanted to protest. The idea made him feel sick. He didn’t want to profit on the favour of saving Shiro’s life. But Adam was already turning around, flicking his eyes from the man in uniform down to Keith. He considered him like an insect, his jaw tense.

“Of course,” he said. “A twenty should do,” he nodded toward his lackey.

“Is that the going rate for saving the man you love?” Shiro asked.

Keith’s eyes widened. He glanced down at his coat, wishing he could fish out a cigarette. Adam stepped closer to him, lip quirked in a false smile that told Keith he would very much like to crush him beneath his shoe.

“I know,” he said, smacking his lips. “Why don’t you join us for dinner tomorrow?”

Keith glanced at Shiro. The man was staring at him too, expression indecipherable.

“Sure,” Keith answered - to Shiro only. “I’d love to.”

Adam smiled with all the warmth of the Atlantic sea. The first class were so good at that, Keith decided. Playing civil. He couldn’t think of anything worse than spending an entire night with them.

But, the idea of seeing Shiro again intrigued him. He couldn’t forget his frightened cry, or the way he’d looked so sad and empty before Keith offered his hand. He couldn’t forget the warmth of his body or the clench of his hands laced with his.

Keith thought of it as he took himself back to third class, laying down on his thin mattress, staring at Lance’s bunk above his. It was a lacklustre sight, but Keith could only see bright eyes and trembling fingers.

……………………………………………………………………………

Shiro took off his clothes piece by piece.

His entire body ached - both from the fall and the panic attack that induced it. He breathed deeply when the collar around his throat unbuttoned. His hands still shook as he removed his shirt and sat half-naked before the vanity.

He examined his reflection carefully.

He was littered in scars, all over his chest and arms. Even his face had not been sparred. His grandparents had told him he was lucky for surviving the crash. His mother told him he’d be lucky to find _anyone_ looking the way he did.

Shiro swallowed, clenching his prosthetic arm so he could watch the way the metal locked and whirred. He could hardly remember the luxury of having both hands.

He glanced up to see Adam standing behind him, considering his reflection.

“I know you’ve been melancholy,” he said, voice gentle. “I don’t pretend to know why.”

Shiro’s eyes still stung from tears. He looked down, wondering if his fiancé truly didn’t know - or if he was being coy. Adam took out a black velvet case and handed it to Shiro.

“I intended to save this until the engagement party,” Adam explained. “But I thought tonight you’d like a reminder of my feelings for you.”

Shiro opened the case to find a necklace, a large blue stone locked in place with a string of smaller, glimmering diamonds.

“My God,” Shiro gasped. “Is that a-”

“Diamond,” Adam finished for him.

He took the necklace from the case and fit it around Shiro’s throat. It sat between his breast, elegant and heavy, the most expensive collar Shiro had ever seen.

“Louis the Sixteenth wore it,” Adam said, hands still on Shiro’s neck. “The call it Le Coeur de la Mer.”

“The Heart of the Ocean,” Shiro breathed. “Adam, it’s overwhelming.”

His husband smiled as if it were a compliment. He leaned in until their faces touched, staring at himself in the reflection. His hand traced the column of Shiro’s throat, slow and forgiving. Shiro watched, his fiancé seemingly enhanced by his looks. It was disarming - and blood rose to his face as he was examined like the diamond herself.

“There’s nothing I couldn’t give you,” Adam told him. “Nothing I’d deny you, if you didn’t deny me. Open your heart to me, Shiro.”

Shiro exhaled, his chest pinned down by the weight of the magnificent diamond. It was a beautiful gift - but not one for Shiro. It was another of Adam’s things. Something to brag on.

And it was suffocating Shiro.

……………………………………………………………………………


	2. Chapter 2

_12th April, 1912_

The mornings were beginning to grow colder.

On his third dawn at sea Keith found himself on deck sketching the little girl again. She was Norwegian, he discovered, with big brown eyes and a smile that reflected her good nature. Lance had already made several ugly attempts to woo her older sister.

Keith etched a ringlet of dark hair, used his thumb to smooth the colour in her cheek. He leaned back to accept a smoke from Matt, listening to Lance’s umpteenth attempt at seducing the older sister.

“Give it up,” Matt chuckled, sticking the smoke back in his own mouth. “You don’t know the language.”

Lance shot him a narrow-eyed look. He went to talk but paused - looking at something over Keith’s shoulder. Everyone else went silent too.

Keith turned to see Shiro approaching their table on the third class deck. He was dressed just as lovely as always, his suit pale and his hair dark. He fiddled with his glove, unusual to wear so early in the day, and offered a little smile toward Keith.

“Mr. Kogane,” he greeted.

Keith grinned at the stunned silence from around the table. He tucked his drawings away, dusting his grubby fingers on his trousers.

“Hello again,” Keith said in return.

Shiro glanced around the table - at Lance, to Matt, the Norwegian girls and their family. Keith wondered what he thought of them, dressed in the finest clothes they owned but unable to hold a candle to Shiro’s own.

“Could we talk in private?” The man asked.

Keith turned to savour the look of shock on Lance’s face. He nodded, giving his friend a triumphant smirk. He tucked his sketches under his arm and followed Shiro away from the table and toward the upper deck of the Titanic.

The sun was beautiful over the sea, still too gentle to be blinding, the horizon stretching out forever. Keith kept close to Shiro’s side, aware of the eyes on them. They were an odd pair - tall and short, rich and poor. Keith tucked back his hair, nervous.

“Mr. Kogane-”

“Keith.”

Shiro paused by the railing, wetting his mouth.

“K-Keith,” he tried again. “I wanted to thank you for last night. Not just for pulling me back but… your discretion too.”

Keith felt as red in the face as the other man looked. He nodded, hugging his chest.

“You’re welcome,” he said.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Shiro laughed, a deprecating sound but lovely all the same. “Poor little rich boy. What does he know about misery?”

Keith snorted. In no reality could Shiro ever be _little_.

“I wasn’t thinking that,” Keith said in truth. “I was wondering what must have happened to make him think there was no way out.”

Shiro’s eyes widened a fraction. They were stuck between brown and grey, almost gold, luminous in the sunlight. _Warm_ , Keith thought, watching Shiro smooth back his hair.

“It was a lot of things,” he admitted. “I felt so trapped.”

His tone was delicate, tired. Keith felt it in every word he said, like the man was weighed down by something invisible.

“I had to get away,” he said, glancing toward the sea. “I didn’t want to be like _them_.”

Keith imagined what might have happened if he hadn’t found Shiro. If the man had jumped - his body lost to the ocean. It was difficult to think of, the taller man was so young and so beautiful, too gentle for the sea.

“Them?”

“My fiancé,” Shiro exhaled. “My mother, their friends. Their wives. _Everyone_ on this ship.”

He paused, glancing at Keith.

“Everyone in first class, at least.”

Keith’s heart gave a funny thump in his chest and he forced himself to break their eye contact. He looked toward the sea, crossing his arms over the railing.

“Do you love him?” Keith asked.

“Keith!” The man hissed, scandalised.

Keith smiled, rocking back on his heels. It was too easy to make the tall, first class boy blush.

“It’s a simple yes or no question,” Keith said.

“It’s inappropriate,” Shiro snapped back at him.

His accent was thicker when he was mad. Keith enjoyed the sound of it, determined to make him madder.

“So that’s a no?” He decided.

“It’s _not_ a no,” Shiro said in a whisper-hiss. “I’m marrying him, aren’t I?”

Keith rolled his eyes, staring up at Shiro from beneath his eyelashes.

“That don’t mean you love him,” he said. “Or that he loves you.”

His words bought a flourish of colour to Shiro’s face - a scowl too. Keith liked it - the hint of feral beneath the handsome, well-groomed face.

“Don’t presume to know me,” Shiro snapped.

He was flustered now, eyes searching for something to change the conversation. They landed on the sketch book tucked under Keith’s arm.

“What is this anyway?” He asked, taking it from Keith so rudely it shocked a laugh out of the boy.

“Is this…” Shiro stepped back, finding a seat on one of the deck chairs. “Are you an artist?”

Keith shrugged, watching the man pick through his collection of drawings. There were sketches of women, of children. Detailed images of hands, of mouths and eyes.

“These are actually quite good,” Shiro admitted, reverence in his voice.

Keith rubbed the back of his neck. He didn’t know what to say. It was something he had always know how to do. He sat beside Shiro, catching the sweetly masculine smell of his cologne.

Shiro turned the page to discover a sketch of a nude man and his breath caught in his throat.

“Oh,” he said.

Shiro hugged the sketch closer to his chest to hide it from passing eyes - but he didn’t look away. He appraised the nude man with careful eyes, turning the pages to find more.

“Were these, um, drawn from life?”

Keith nodded.

‘That’s the beauty of Paris,” he explained. “Lots of men willing to take their clothes off.”

Shiro didn’t laugh. He was too busy examining one drawing in particular. The man was naked, recumbent on his side. It was rather intimate, the eyes dark and fixated on the artist. Shiro traced his glove down the side of the page, lingering.

“You like this man,” Shiro said. “You’ve used him several times.”

“He had beautiful hands,” Keith said.

Shiro looked up and raised an eyebrow at Keith. His expression of awe morphed into a little smirk.

“Beautiful hands,” he repeated. “Ahuh.”

Keith turned the page over, revealing another of the man.

“He was a one-legged prostitute,” Keith said.

Shiro’s smile fell away and his face paled. He looked at the drawing for a long time, paying special attention to the place where the prostitute’s leg tapered off into scar tissue.

“You have a gift, Keith. You see people.”

Keith held his breath. He stared at Shiro as the man stared at his drawings. Last night he seemed so sad but today he looked ethereal, every part the exquisite millionaire Keith supposed he was.

“I see you,” he told Shiro.

……………………………………………………………………………

He stayed with him all day.

Shiro’s company was easy, his voice deep and dulcet. Keith hung off every word, now blind to the stares of passerbys. By the time the sun began to set he knew everything about Shiro, and Shiro knew everything about him.

He knew about the desert. He knew about his daddy. He knew of each county Keith visited, and knew of how his heart yearned to return to Utah.

“Why can’t I be like you Keith?” Shiro asked, equal parts impressed and mournful. “Just head out for the horizon when I feel like it.”

The sun made the white forelock of Shiro’s hair an apricot colour. The sunset did a million favours for his already devastating face.

“I’d love to see the desert,” Shiro added. “Say we’ll go there sometime, ever if we only ever talk about it.”

Keith wasn’t sure if the man was only saying it to be polite or if he really meant it - but he’d already begun to imagine it. He can see the two of them riding toward his old home between sunset-orange buttes, Shiro’s suit switched out for a horse and wide-brimmed hat.

“We’ll go,” Keith blurted. “We’ll drink cheap whiskey and ride our horses through the river. You’d have to ride like a cowboy - none of that side-saddle stuff.”

Shiro blushed.

“I don’t ride side-saddle,” he murmured. Then, after a moment, “Will you teach me?”

Keith nodded.

“And spit too? Like a _real_ man?”

Shiro let his voice drop deep and rough, a mimicry of Keith’s crude American accent. He couldn’t help but laugh at it, his mouth sore from smiling. He hadn’t had this much fun in weeks.

“They didn’t teach you that in finishing school?” Keith grinned. “Here, I’ll show you.”

He leaned over the railing and spat into the ocean, as far as he could. He wiped his mouth, stepping back to let Shiro have a go. The man seemed giddy with excitement, screwing up his mouth as he spat - an abysmal drizzle that barely made it over the railing.

“That’s terrible,” Keith teased. “You’ve gotta put your back into it.”

Keith braced himself and spat further, whooping with glee as it shot into the ocean. Shiro grinned, sucking spit into his mouth with a sound that didn’t match his expensive suit - but stopped at the sight of something behind Keith.

His face paled, sleeve wiping hastily at his mouth.

“Mother,” he exhaled.

Keith spun around to see a collection of women approaching them. One looked like a smaller, female version of Shiro - with strong cheekbones and a sure, tightly sealed mouth.

“May I formally introduce Keith Kogane,” Shiro said, his voice falling back into something more prim than before.

Shiro’s mother took Keith’s hand with visible reluctance. Keith tried to smile, tried to soften his rough looks with boyish charm. He was aware of his charcoal-smeared clothes and his too-long hair, the older Japanese woman glaring at each imperfection.

“Charmed,” she smiled, eyes unamused.

“Looks like you’re a good man to have around in a spot of trouble,” said a woman with dark skin and light hair.

She introduced herself as Allura Blisset, and despite her delicately beaded dress Keith could see she was not of the same feather as the other women. She was rougher, a little wild, with a loud, Texan accent.

The bugle sounded, announcing dinner, to which Keith remembered he’d been invited.

“I’ll see you at dinner,” Shiro said into his ear, smiling as his mother lead him away with a tight grip on his arm.

Keith stared after him until he had disappeared, the sun a little cooler now he was alone. Allura approached him, cocking her head as she smiled.

“Do you have any idea of what you’re about to do?” She asked.

Keith shook his head.

“What are you planning to wear?”

Allura flickered her eyes down Keith’s shirt and trousers, but with none of the same disdain Shiro’s mother had. Keith looked down too, stuffing his hands into his pockets.

“This?” He guessed.

Allura’s laugh was too loud and utterly undignifying. She slapped Keith’s arm like he’d said something incredibly hilarious.

“Come with me,” she chortled, leading Keith inside.

……………………………………………………………………………

Keith didn’t feel like himself.

He didn’t look like himself, either. He caught sight of his reflection before they left and saw a stranger staring back at him.

“My my,” Allura said. “You shine up like a new penny.”

The suit was as dark as his hair - which had been combed back and slicked down, the long pieces tucked into a bun. Keith had never had so much of his face exposed at once, unused to the way Allura had cooed over his cheekbones and the slight curve of his nose.

He wore gloves and polished shoes, everything too stiff and too new. He was spritzed with men’s cologne and Allura even took the time to tighten the white bow around his throat.

He escorted her to the grand staircase - and it was every part as grand as the name suggested.

Allura assured him he looked the part but Keith couldn’t help but feel nervous. His heart sat in his throat as he offered a stiff nod to the man who opened a door for them. Never in his life had someone opened a door for him!

Allura clung to his arm, all smiles and dulcet _hellos_ , waving at the women who grazed their eyes over Keith’s suit. The room was thick with people in their most impressive clothes, the air chiming with glasses and footsteps.

As they ascended the staircase Keith caught sight of Shiro.

The man was the most beautiful thing in the room - and that was saying something. Keith’s heart skipped a beat at the sight of him, annoyed at how easily his heart caved for Shiro in a tuxedo.

It was not like the night before.

This time Shiro was smiling, his hair perfectly parted, his teeth sharkish and proud. He was perched on Adam’s arm - comical as he was so much taller than him. He didn’t look kept. He looked happy.

He let go of Adam long enough to greet Allura, and then extended his hand to Keith. Keith took the silk fingers and folded them in his palm, bringing Shiro’s hand to his mouth. He kissed him, lips pressed in a chaste kiss to his glove. When he pulled away the man’s face was a delightful mix of embarrassment and joy.

“Saw that in a nickelodeon once,” Keith explained. “Always wanted to try it.”

Shiro beamed, not letting go of his hand. He couldn’t stop staring at him, obviously impressed. Adam glanced over, arching one eyebrow.

“You remember Mr. Kogane,” Shiro said. “Right, darling?”

Adam blinked at Keith, then gasped.

“Huh!” He exclaimed, clasping Keith’s shoulder. “I didn’t recognise you for a moment.”

Keith gave a sweet smile, mimicking the people around him.

“You’d almost pass as a gentleman,” Adam continued, met with polite laughter.

Keith schooled his lips into a small line. He glanced at Shiro, who’s eyes had not once strayed from him.

“Almost,” he mouthed at the man.

Shiro snorted, disguising the sound with his glove.

……………………………………………………………………………

Shiro knew a lot of beautiful words - but none can describe the way Keith looked that night.

Handsome didn’t cut it. Keith was the prettiest person in the room - all dressed up and lead toward their table like some sort of novelty. All eyes were on him, none more so than Shiro’s.

The dining saloon was thick with people and the tinkle of silverware. All guests at the table turned toward Keith, whispering excitedly beneath their hands. He might have passed for a young millionaire, a rich bachelor perhaps. New money, obviously - but wealthy all the same.

“Tell us of the accomodations in steerage Mr. Kogane,” his mother asked once everyone was seated. “I hear they’re quite good on this ship.”

Shiro shot her a look. Keith’s throat bobbed but he kept calm - gorgeously so. To his credit he gave Himari a smile, hands folded beneath the table.

“The best I’ve seen m’am,” he replied. “Hardly any rats.”

Everyone at the table erupted into tittered laughter. Shiro suppressed a smile, oddly proud. He could see Keith fiddling with his napkin and wished he was seated next to him. He might take his hand and squeeze it, work the anxious tremble from his arm.

“Mr. Kogane is joining us from third class,” Adam noted. “He was of some assistance to my fiancé last night.”

There was interested chatter around the table. Shiro watched Allura lean in to Keith and whisper something in his ear. He smiled, and Shiro burned with a jealously that surprised him.

“Where are you from?” Asked a woman at the table - although it was clear from Keith’s voice he was American.

“Right now my address is the Titanic,” Keith said, watching with interest as his entrée was served. “After that, who knows?”

There was another murmur of amused chatter. It must have seemed so bohemian to them all, Shiro figured.

Keith stared down at his cutlery, confused by the spread. The others started to eat but Keith hesitated. Shiro cleared his throat, catching the boy’s attention so he discreetly could point out the correct fork for him to use.

“You find that sort of rootless existence appealing, do you?” Himari asked.

Shiro glanced at her again, wishing she would stop speaking. Keith took it in his stride, that well-trained smile never leaving his face.

“It’s a big world,” he answered. “I want to see it all before I die. My daddy, he-”

Keith hesitated. The table had grown quiet, all turned toward him and hanging off each word. Shiro understood the fascination. Keith was exotic. He was new.

“My daddy died when I was young,” he continued. “He never got to see the world. I’ve been on the road ever since. Something like that teaches you to take each day as it comes. To make each day count.”

Allura beamed beside him, raising her glass.

“Well said,” she praised.

“Here here,” said another.

Shiro raised his glass too, pride flaring once again inside him. The rest of the table followed suite, Keith’s eyes widening.

“To making it count,” Shiro said.

……………………………………………………………………………

As the night waned the conversation became less subtle.

Shiro felt swayed by liquor, leaning forward on his hand so he could watch Keith make conversation with Allura and the other wives around him. He was distantly guilty of the fact he’d not spoken to his fiancé all night.

Shiro liked how Keith usually looked.

He was roguish and untamed, a wild thing roped in from the wilderness of Utah, sun-kissed and unpolished.

But Shiro also liked how he looked now.

With his hair combed back Shiro could appreciate his long eyelashes and his cheekbones, and the perfect colour of his full mouth. He had spent the whole evening examining him, ignoring his husband-to-be and his cowed mother. It was clear neither enjoyed Keith’s newfound popularity.

When the men all stood and made notions to retire to the gentleman’s lounge an offer was extended to Keith. He sweetly declined, standing from the table.

“No thanks,” he said. “I’m heading back.”

“Most likely for the best,” Adam smiled. “You wouldn’t want to stay here with the women.”

Shiro shot his fiancé a look.

“Must you go?” He asked Keith, after Adam had gone.

He’d hardly the opportunity to speak to him all night. He could feel his mother glaring at him but he was entranced when Keith rounded the table and came to stand before him.

“Thank you for inviting me,” he said, taking Shiro’s hand into his.

He kissed it again, letting his mouth linger a little longer than appropriate. Shiro felt Keith tuck something into his palm, giving it a squeeze before he stood straight and left the table. Shiro let go of a breath, chest thick with something he’d not felt before.

He opened his hand under the table, revealing a slip of folded paper.

 _Make it count_ , the message read.

 _Meet me at the clock_.

……………………………………………………………………………

Keith was standing at the grand staircase.

He was examining the clock, the intricate woodwork around it. It chimed as Shiro approached and Keith turned around, his smile genuine as he watched the man ascend the staircase.

“Want to go to a real party?” He asked, eyes dark with dangerous promise.

……………………………………………………………………………

The room rumbled with music.

It was loud and raucous, and Shiro had never seen anything like it. The floor rocked beneath his shoes and the table shook, spilling beer onto his trousers. It stained his gloves but he didn’t notice, staring at the dance floor as it writhed with people.

The air was thick with sweat and liquor, couples of every age and race twisting past one another. It was so chaotic it should not have worked so gracefully, nothing like the slow and paced dances Shiro had been subjected to.

The band was an eclectic collection of noise, the drum so quick and loud it rattled through Shiro’s skin and into his soul. Third class was hot, sweat beaded on Shiro’s neck and working his hair free of its styling, but he felt strangely at home.

Keith was in the crowd, spinning a little girl on the tops of his shoes. He’d shed his suit jacket and rolled his sleeves over his elbows. His hair was loose, black and wild. He looked over his shoulder and shot Shiro a smile so bright his heart clenched.

Shiro took another sip of beer, cheap and weak, his nose wrinkling as he downed it. Like the accordion and the stamp of feet against the floor - there was nothing glamorous about it but Shiro loved it all the same.

He watched Keith lean down and speak to the little girl, and then he was walking over to Shiro. He placed a smoke between his lips and lit it with a flick of his small-boned wrist.

“Having fun?” He asked, smiling as if Shiro’s pleasure was obvious.

The ache in his jaw from smiling told Shiro that perhaps it was. He nodded, Keith standing so close to him their knees touched. He offered Shiro his cigarette, his lips brushing Keith’s knuckles as he inhaled.

Keith didn’t bother to finish his smoke.

He crushed it on the table and then offered his hand to Shiro. When he took it the man dragged him to his feet, grinning as he lead him into the crowd. Shiro shook as Keith stepped close to him, encouraging his prosthetic to rest on the small of his back.

The boy was warm against him, waist small and smile faltering as their chests met. It curved into something intimate and Shiro couldn’t look away from the plush of his lips even if the room caught on fire.

“I don’t know the steps,” Shiro said.

Keith squeezed his flesh hand, looking at him through the dramatic fan of his eyelashes.

“Just move with me,” he said. “Don’t think.”

And then they were moving.

It was much faster than any dance Adam had ever dragged him through. If not for the warm, sure weight of Keith’s body Shiro was sure he would be lost. They spun, lost in the current of people, dancing to a song with no name.

Shiro’s heart felt ready to burst, jack-rabbiting against his ribs. Keith laughed, sweat on his brow as he smiled back at him, keeping close as they kept rhythm with the swelling wave of music.

The room held hundreds of people but Shiro only had eyes for Keith, mapping out his pretty face as he whisked him across the floor. He couldn’t hear his laughter over the music but he could feel it on his stomach - cherishing the way Keith tipped his head back as if he were as happy as Shiro.

He was so enraptured by Keith’s big, dark eyes that he noticed nothing else. He didn’t see the other couples. He didn’t see the fight that broke out across the room.

He certainly didn’t see Adam’s lackey, watching them from the door.

……………………………………………………………………………

When the song ended Keith dragged him outside.

The deck was silent and dark, the band like a murmur beneath water. The both of them panted, unable to wipe the smiles from their faces.

Keith still held Shiro’s hand. He gave it a squeeze, working his thumb into the centre of his palm. It was his mechanical hand and it was clear Keith could sense something unusual about it, mapping the steel pieces as his smile faded into something tamer.

Shiro took his hand back long enough to peel off his glove. Normally he would never do that. Not even Adam liked the sight of it. But he felt oddly brave under the stars with Keith, offering up his metal fingers for appraisal.

Keith’s lips parted and he made a curious sound. He turned his hand over, tracing each artificial line. Shiro couldn’t help the way his heart sung with acceptance. Keith put his hand against his mouth and kissed the metal.

“Beautiful,” he said.

He didn’t blink as he kissed the end of Shiro’s finger. The metal was bright against the colour of his mouth, dark with blood. Keith parted his lips and let him in, and Shiro mourned the loss of sensation as his finger pressed between Keith’s teeth and against his tongue.

He groaned all the same.

“ _Keith_ ,” he muttered.

When he leaned in the boy didn’t stop him. His eyes fell to Shiro’s mouth, pupils big and black. He sucked in a breath and made a cavity for Shiro to sink into. Their hearts met the same time their mouths did.

It was a dry, chaste kiss.

Keith felt as gorgeous as Shiro imagined, small and vulnerable, sighing as he melted against his chest. Shiro slid an arm around him and pulled him closer, his nose bent as it dug into his cheek.

“Shiro,” he whispered, small and breathless.

Shiro kissed him against, eyelashes like butterfly wings on his cheek. He shifted his flesh hand to the back of Keith’s head, threading into the thick, dark hair he’d dreamt of.

Keith held him too, curling both arms around his biceps. He pushed his mouth closer, desperate, surging up on his toes to be closer to his lips. Shiro broke the kiss with a _smack_ , breathing so hard he felt as if he’d faint.

“What?” Keith asked, searching his face.

Shiro didn’t answer, too enamoured by the desperation in his features. He cupped Keith’s face, marvelling at how small he seemed in the cradle of his hand.

“Is that how rich boys kiss?” Keith asked. “Because you don’t drink, or dance, or _spit_ like a rich boy.”

He was staring at Shiro’s mouth again, a challenge. He wet his lips, shifting his body to remind Shiro of his incredible heat. Distantly he was aware the boy was teasing him - but his primitive mind took control of his mouth.

“You think I kiss like a rich boy?” He asked.

He could hear his voice was rough, hungry. Keith nodded, smirking as he felt Shiro rile. The man tipped his head back, his hand fitting snug around his throat.

He kissed him again, opening his mouth to press his tongue along the seam of Keith’s lips. The boy gasped, parting his teeth to let Shiro lick into him. His hands curled into his shirt when Shiro dropped his jaw, curling his tongue into his mouth.

“Like this?” Shiro grunted, using Keith’s hair to tug him off his mouth.

The boy looked a little stupid, dazed. His lips were still open, his small, hot tongue darting out to wet his mouth.

“Is that how a rich boy kisses?”

Keith’s answer came as a rattling groan. He shook his head, swallowing a noisy gasp as their mouths met again. Shiro mapped his teeth with his tongue, Keith’s mouth damp with beer, his moans with liquor, clouding Shiro’s head.

Tomorrow his lips would bruise but Shiro didn’t care.

Keith was warm and hot and _alive_ , and he kissed Shiro with teeth, his nails dragging down his arms. He didn’t kiss Shiro like he were broken. He didn’t treat him like a glass doll.

Keith kissed as if he’d suffocate without Shiro’s mouth to his.

His tongue was sweet and petal pink. His ribs sank and filled out again when Shiro slid his hand against them. He keened when Shiro pulled his hair, parted his lips and fed honeyed sounds between his teeth.

Shiro pinned him between the wall and his body, delighting when Keith bucked his hips and cried out in shock. His arms tightened, the line of his cock meeting Shiro’s hip, searing hot beneath the borrowed fabric.

The sound he made was lewd, a punched out gasp like he’d been shot. Shiro ate the sound like he were starving, grasping Keith’s hips in his hands to keep him still, grinding between him to let him know he felt the same.

It was worth it for the way Keith dropped his head back just to breathe, his chest like the ocean, his eyes black as night.

“Shi- _ro_ ,” he sobbed, breath coming as clouds.

Shiro grasped his thigh and hitched his leg over his hip. He rutted into him, grinding a slow and filthy circle between Keith’s hips. He thought of tugging down his trousers, spitting on his hand and pushing a finger into Keith. The boy cried as if he could read his thoughts, his noises small and slutty - like he had never been touched that way before.

His fingers ruined Shiro’s hair, his hips wriggling. Shiro took mercy on him and fucked himself against his tented cock, sighing in relief. Their foreheads met, pulse loud and painful.

Shiro had never felt this way before.

He felt like he might die, his heart giving out as he carved a place for himself between Keith’s legs. He and Adam had only ever _kissed_ , and they were nothing like the bawdy, scathing things Keith left on him.

Shiro grabbed Keith’s other thigh, ducking down to pick him up and pin him to the wall. Keith’s thighs hugged his ribs as he wrapped his legs around him, digging his heels into Shiro’s back to shove them back together.

“Fuck,” the boy whimpered, throwing back his head.

Shiro obeyed, splitting Keith’s legs and pushed his heavy cock between them, sweating as he curled his fingers in too hard, too needy.

Keith sounded like a dream. A dirty dream. Shiro wanted to stay between his thighs forever, crushed to the wall with his dick snug against his ass, drowning in the high-pitched _uhhn_ , _uhn_ , _uhn_ sounds he made.

He sucked Keith’s tongue between his teeth until he squealed, and Keith clung closer, hand cupping Shiro’s cheek like he could _love_ him no matter how much he hurt him.

The gonging of the clock from them from the fever dream. Shiro forced his mouth from Keith's, panting against him. He could taste his pulse, feel his mouth curve up at sight of Keith just as affected as he felt.

"I should go back," he said gently.

Keith frowned, but he nodded. He didn't take his hands away from Shiro, still cradling his cheek. 

"I don't want this night to end," he said in a whisper, closing his eyes as his hid against Shiro's chest.

Shiro kissed him again, his stomach stirring at the taste of his own mouth imprinted onto Keith's. He breathed him in, salt air and cologne, sweat and charcoal.

"I don't want any of this to end," Shiro admitted, pressing his nose into Keith's hair.

He felt the boy's breath hitch, fingers tracing a delicate line over his nape.

"What do you want?" He asked.

Shiro paused. _What did he want?_

He knew what he _didn't_ want.

He didn’t want to be a trophy husband. He didn’t want to live in New York. He didn’t want to be appraised by Adam’s friends, be called a fine thoroughbred, reduced to his heritage. To be nothing but something sweet Adam could display in his home, his sheets.

Shiro didn’t want to marry Adam.

The realisation hit him like the ice cold breeze. His breath caught, hands tightening around Keith as if that would be enough to keep them together. But the boy had asked what he _did_ want - and Shiro knew.

But Keith asked him what he _did_ want. But the answer was too large for him to bear - and he wasn't sure he could carry its weight without breaking beneath it.

So he looked down and sighed, cutting his complex thoughts and overwhelming emotions into three simple, ugly words.

“I don’t know.”

Hope faded from Keith’s eyes.

“Oh.”

He reached up and fixed the forelock of Shiro’s hair with a tenderness he didn’t deserve. Shiro tilted his head as his hand left, brushing a kiss to his palm.

“You should be getting back,” Keith said. “Someone will miss you.”

“Someone,” Shiro parroted.

He looked down at his engagement ring and swallowed. He thought of casting it into the sea. He thought of many wild, silly things.

“I’ll walk you back,” Keith said, his voice quiet and closed off.

They didn’t speak as Keith took him back to first class. The deck was mostly deserted, the night too cold for anyone to linger long. They stopped outside the ornate doors that separated their classes, a pregnant pause before Keith sighed.

“Goodnight, Shiro.”

Shiro looked through the door and at the ornate furnishings, the way the chandelier illuminated the gold. It was nice inside. Familiar. He looked back at Keith, at the ocean behind him, just as tempting as one another.

“Goodnight,” he forced himself to say.

Keith hung his head when Shiro opened the door. He didn’t say anything else. Perhaps he couldn’t. Maybe he had a lump in his throat the same as Shiro’s.

There was a lot to consider - but Shiro couldn’t afford to think on it. He opened the door and took one last look at Keith’s small, handsome figure before he closed the door on him.

Shiro was marrying the richest man in the state - but there were many, many things he could not afford to do.

……………………………………………………………………………


End file.
